


The Easterlies

by ml101



Series: Prevailing Wind [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, F/M, Gen, Hurt Mycroft Holmes, Post-Episode: s04e01 The Six Thatchers, Protective Mycroft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24872380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ml101/pseuds/ml101
Summary: He moved. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mary Watson also jump forward but there was no way he was going to let a young girl lose her mother. Just as much as he will not let anything happen to his younger brother.What if someone else jumped in front of Sherlock when Vivian Norbury fired her gun? How will that one act change the lives of the Holmes and Watson families?
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Series: Prevailing Wind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799707
Comments: 12
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First of the many stories revolving around that one idea that seem to not want to be ignored. What if Mycroft Holmes pushed Sherlock and Mary out of the way when Norbury shot Sherlock? How would that change the events of Series 4.
> 
> It's a series because the idea has morphed into many versions since Series 4 aired. This first one will be trying to be as canonical as possible. The only major change would be Mary is not dead and Mycroft is injured.
> 
> And the introduction of a Sherlock character that was mentioned but never made an appearance.

“Come on,” began Lestrade, pointing towards Vivian Norbury. “Be sensible.”

But he already knew there was no form of reasoning that would make Vivian Norbury see sense -- especially with the little show of dramatics that have just concluded. No, he had seen that look on Vivian Norbury’s face before. She was resigned. Resigned to her fate -- that her days as a free human being were over. That she had no future.

People resigned to their fate always had one thing on their mind -- dragging to hell the person responsible.

He moved. From the corner of his eye, he saw Mary Watson also jump forward but there was no way he was going to let a young girl lose her mother.

Just as much as he will not let anything happen to his younger brother.

“No,” replied Vivian Norbury, as he predicted. “I don’t think so.”

Sherlock still had his arms raised. Good. His instincts would most definitely have his arms wrap around Mary -- saving them from a hard fall to the ground, especially given the strength he was going to push them out of the way.

That and the speed he had propelled himself sideways. The gun seemed your standard automatic -- the nozzle velocity was average but the distance of the gun from its intended target was quite small. 

Had Mary jumped in front of Sherlock, given their height difference and the side angle, the bullet would have gone through her lower chest. She would have had minutes. Had Sherlock received the bullet -- collapsed lung was the probable outcome.

He was taller, coming from the opposite direction. Bullet wound to the abdomen , most probably on the left side. Oh well. His left torso has seen it’s fair share of wounds over the years -- what’s one more?

He was surprised that he was still standing as the pain ripped through his lower abdomen. His hand went immediately to the wound. Probably the first time he wasn;t glad to be correct in a deduction. Who would be given the pain one was currently feeling?

“MYCROFT!”

Two of Lestrade men quickly hurried over Norbury and took the gun from her, not putting up much of a fight.

That was the last thing that registered as Mycroft saw his vision tilt on its axis and with a blink he was looking up towards the ceiling. Pain resonated from his abdomen and he pushed it at the back of his mind.

Something or rather someone pillows his head and he blinked to see the concerned face of Mary Watson looking down at him. “That’s it, Mycroft. Try to stay awake.”

“Get an ambulance,” barked Sherlock and Mycroft vaguely heard the hurried footsteps of someone -- but there was another set heading their way. Who on--

“John! Gunshot wound to the abdomen,” called Mary as another pair of hands put pressure on the wound. This time Mycroft couldn’t hold back the intake of breath as pain shot through his body once more.

“What the hell were you thinking?” demanded Sherlock, not looking at his brother, too focused on the pool of blood that was alarming increasing on the floor.

“Not the time, Sherlock,” said John sharply.

Mycroft found himself snorting in amusement. “I believe...she was talking to your wife.”

John sharply looked up and made eye contact with Mary to which Mary just glared at Sherlock. “Later. More important things at the moment.”

“I was talking to you both,” said Sherlock with a scoff.

“Honestly...think,” began Mycroft, trying to control breathing. “Not letting you...die--brother.” He was starting to feel numb, definitely not a good sign. His eyes were heavy, staying awake was no longer a possible feat.

He heard varying shouts of his name but the blackness was dragging him down--he didn’t put much of a fight.

_The East Wind’s blowing_

_Sixteen by six, brother_

Mycroft forced his eyes open. Mary was now joined by Sherlock, both calling his name.

He had to...Sherlock needed to know. Damn whatever Uncle Rudy thought was best. If he was going to die, she needed someone.

“Sher…” his voice broke before he could finish. He struggled to breathe, like he was drowning. He had to...Sherlock needed to know. Eurus…

Someone grabbed his hand and Mycroft found himself focusing for a brief moment as Sherlock met his eye and squeezed his hand. “Mycroft, the ambulance is on--”

“Sher--,” he struggled anew but the word wouldn’t come out. Black sports were dancing in his line of sight.

_I that am lost_

_Oh, who will find me_

_Deep down below_

Two children, a young boy and a young girl -- both calling for their older brother.

_Help succour me now_

“Brother!”

Three voices, two from Sherlock. One as a child, the other as an adult. And the last voice…

_“Brother! Help!”_

“Sherrinford…” whispered Mycroft, hazing directly at Sherlock. “Case...Sher--rinford.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sherlock paced the waiting room as John and Mary waited with him for any update on Mycroft’s condition. Anthea had arrived with a medical team the second Mycroft lost consciousness. They had quickly gotten the older Holmes into a private facility where they were now waiting.

Sherlock had remained quiet throughout their journey. The amount of blood Mycroft had lost did not do anything to help calm his nerves. John did not voice any reassuring words -- because the man knew that Sherlock would shoot them down just as quickly. There was no use sweet coating what was happening.

His brother had jumped in front of a bullet for him. If it hadn’t been Mycroft, it would have been Mary. Why were people risking their lives for him? Why would they do something so stupid--

Sherlock stopped and both Mary and John turned to him just as he swung his arm and made to punch the nearest wall.

John quickly grabbed his arm and roughly pushed him to sit down on the nearest chair.

“Breaking your hand isn’t going to do anything, Sherlock,” said Mary, coming to sit beside him.

“Stupid. My damn brother chose the most inconvenient time to be stupid.” whispered Sherlock as he covered his face with his hands.

“He wasn’t the only one ready to jump in front of a bullet for you,” said Mary to which Sherlock looked up to her sharply. “If John had been there, he would have done the same thing. And you know that for a fact.”

Sherlock turned to his best friend who was at first glaring at his wife but then turned to Sherlock who only shrugged and nodded. “She’s right. If it’s not Mycroft, then it would be Mary or me or you in surgery right now.”

“No one needed to be in danger if I hadn’t provoked Vivian Norbury,” argued Sherlock as he stood and began pacing once more.

“She was going to drag anyone down with her, and you know that,” replied Mary. “Whether you didn’t voice out your deductions or not, she was still going to fire that gun. Why do you think she even brought it with her?”

Sherlock remained quiet as he finally stopped and sat back down between John and Mary. He sighed. “I never thought...I always thought that Mycroft would always--” He cut himself, not wanting to finish that train of thought.

John and Mary exchanged a look as both laid a comforting hand on the detective’s back. It was an hour or so later when Anthea finally appeared in the room with an update. John and Mary both had a deathgrip on Sherlock’s arms when Anthea had said that Mycroft had flat-lined but the doctors had easily stabilized him once more and that everything went smoothly after that.

“Can Sherlock at least see him?” asked John and Anthea turned to Sherlock.

“I’ve been trying to arrange that,” began Anthea but even with her usual calm and neutral expression, Sherlock could read that something was amiss. “Given recent developments, I was instructed to wait until the arrival of--”

“What?” asked John. “He’s recovering -- they can’t just replace him that fast.”

“She said recent development,” said Mary, eyeing Anthea then back to her husband. “It has been a couple of hours. I’m guessing we’re waiting on the person who will be temporarily doing Mycroft’s job while he’s recovering.”

“And there’s only one person they would trust to take care of Mycroft’s job, that is not Anthea,” said Sherlock with such fury that John had never seen his friend's face before. “When was he contacted--”

“Half an hour ago, made contact fifteen minutes ago,” replied Anthea. “He’s due in the next twenty minutes with Lady Alicia Smallwood and Sir Edwin Blake.”

“And ordered you to stop me from seeing my own brother,” hissed Sherlock.

“My hands are tied, Sherlock,” replied Anthea quickly. “You know as well as I do that I would do anything for your brother but there will always be an exception.” She paused and turned to her phone. “That exception is currently heading to this room. And you know Mycroft would tell you not to antagonize the dragon.”

“Sherlock, who--” began John but Sherlock turned to walk out of the room, no doubt to try and see his brother. “Anthea, who is coming to take Mycroft’s job?”

“Temporarily, Dr. Watson,” remarked Anthea, but sighed as she received a text and stopped Sherlock with a hand on his arm. “You have ten minutes, Sherlock. Tom will take you to his room.”

Sherlock didn’t need to be told twice and quickly left without another word. 

“Alright,” began John again. “Who is temporarily taking over Mycroft’s job as a  _ minor government official _ ?”

“The person who trained him to be one.”

* * *

He had never seen his brother look so fragile in his entire life.

Mycroft was always bigger and taller than him. To see him dwarfed by the hospital bed, with all the medical equipment attached to him was more disconcerting than Sherlock had expected. And he had expected it. He had been shot not too long ago and knew how he looked to visitors.

But that still did not prepare him for seeing Mycroft this way.

Maybe because he never thought anything would put Mycroft down like this. Nothing could hurt the Ice Man -- well nothing except his younger brother.

Sherlock could still remember the look on Mycroft’s face during the whole Bond Air incident, and of course the Magnussen case, a fresh failure in all their minds. Sherlock had always figured that nothing, not any form of global crisis or political scandal or any physical torture would hurt his brother -- until he finally realized what could crack the Ice Man facade, let alone melt it. It stared back at him whenever he looked at a mirror.

_ Your loss would break my heart. _

Sherlock entered the room and walked over to stand by the bed. Mycroft had always been there. Annoying as it seemed and no matter how many times Sherlock had voiced that he didn’t much care for Mycroft, Mycroft had still been there, always ready to drop everything the moment Sherlock called.

And Sherlock had called and Mycroft had risked not only his reputation and career, but his life as well.

His train of thought was disrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps. Anthea said he had ten minutes. Surely---

“For Mycroft’s sake, I suggest you leave now, Mr. Holmes,” said Lady Smallwood hurriedly, as she entered the room. “I doubt Anthea and Edwin will be enough of a distraction for --”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “He has no right banning me from my own brother’s hospital room.”

“Would you really want your brother waking up to the sound of a row while he’s recovering?” fired back Lady Smallwood. “Now is not the time for --”

“Brotherly compassion, especially coming from you,” said the rich, booming voice of an elderly gentleman who had just entered the room. “Either you leave or I have someone escort you out.” The man stared down Sherlock with an arrogant smile. He was older, evidenced by his thinning short grey hair. His still grey eyes underneath heavy brows tore through Sherlock who only stared back with equal intensity.

“Put on some weight,” remarked Sherlock with a glare, mentioning the man’s stouter appearance. “Retirement is a good look on you. Do us all a favor and stay retired for the foreseeable future. Mycroft--”

“Is in a hospital bed because of your stupidity,” fired back the other man. “Always had to have your older brother clean-up your messes, don’t we William?”

Sherlock glared but remained quiet. Lady Smallwood turned to the older gentleman. “Maybe we should take this outside.”

“There is nothing to take outside, Alicia,” replied the other man, looking at Sherlock over his aquiline nose, a family trait. “My nephew was leaving.” The man, Rudolf Vernet, turned to Sherlock with a pointed gaze. “And I trust he will not be bothering his brother for the foreseeable future.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“You can't be serious?” asked John as he and Mary were escorted out with Sherlock. “You’re not seriously just going to walk out while Mycroft is -- ”

“I have more important things to do,” said Sherlock, which promptly got him a very pissed off doctor standing right in front of him.

“Sherlock, he is your brother.”

“Don’t you think I know that,” spat Sherlock. He sighed and looked around, hoping John would get the message but it was Mary who quickly took her husband's arm and gave John a look. “Mycroft will be unconscious for the next few hours given his injuries -- meanwhile, I have a case.”

A case? John wanted to ask but the look on Mary’s face told him to just go with whatever Sherlock was planning. They left without another word.

The entire exchange was not lost on their observer though as Rudy Vernet watched until his nephew and his companions were through the doors.

“Maximize the surveillance on them.” he ordered Anthea. “My nephew is planning something and I’m not going to underestimate him this time around.”

“Understood,” replied Anthea, her usual professional and clipped manner. “Anything else, Mr. Vernet?”

“Yes,” replied Rudy, turning to glare at Anthea. “I want to know who’s incompetence led my nephew to be at that aquarium without proper security?”

“Mr. Holmes had-- ”

“It isn’t Mycroft’s job to think about his wellbeing,” replied Rudy. “He has a team to make sure he stays alive for the foreseeable future. Find out who made that obvious error in judgement and bring them to me.”

“Understood.” replied Anthea, not wishing to speak out of turn. Mycroft had warned her about his uncle and Anthea knew when to keep her place.

“You may go.” said Rudy and Anthea left without another word, already working on her phone.

“That was a bit over dramatic,” said Alicia Smallwood, standing by Rudy’s side.

“Which one? Mycroft’s incompetent PA or my nephew?”

“Both.”

“From what I can see, it was William who told Mycroft to question you,” said Rudy, turning to fix Lady Smallwood with a gaze. “You should be just as angry with him as you are judging my actions.”

“Well when it comes to his brother, we both know Mycroft is not always -- ”

“When it comes to both siblings, yes we quite agree on that.”

* * *

“Sherrinford might not have anything to do with your uncle, you know,” began John as they settled back in Baker Street. Mary carried Rosie in her arms, relishing the moment of still being able to hold her daughter.

It had been close. Now in the aftermath, Mary mentally chastised herself for even thinking of jumping in front of the bullet but it was for Sherlock. But with Rosie now in her arms, she couldn’t help but think what if Mycroft hadn’t pushed them out of the way -- John would have been heartbroken and knowing her husband, would definitely have blamed Sherlock. Who knows what --

“Rudolph Vernet was the British Government before my brother,” said Sherlock, playing around with his violin, organizing his thoughts in preparation on how he was going to tackle his latest case.

“Now I know why he looked familiar,” whispered Mary, getting the attention of both men. “He was watching us leave the hospital.”

“No doubt making sure we actually did,” replied Sherlock.

“Why do you hate him?” asked John, turning towards Sherlock. “You actually do. With fervor. It’s not the same with how you act or speak about Mycroft -- that’s more irritation. But with this Uncle Rudy, you actually do hate him.”

“If you think Mycroft is overbearing,” began Sherlock as he silently played random notes on his violin. “Multiply that tenfold and you have an eighth of what my uncle was like when we were children.”

“No,” said John, studying his friend. “That’s not it.” He paused and studied his friend, obviously picking up a few things over the years of association with Sherlock Holmes.

“John--”

“I see, Sherlock,” said John with a smug smile. “And from what my eyes are telling me, there’s more to this uncle than just cross-dressing.”

Sherlock turned to him and raised an amused eyebrow. “You remembered.”

“Course I bloody do,” said John with a soft smile. “So?”

“He took my brother from me.”

John and Mary both turned to Sherlock in surprise. That was not what they were expecting the detective to say at all. 

“The feud between my brother and I,” continued Sherlock. “It was because he left. Yes, it was his choice. But my uncle was the reason Mycroft was given the opportunity to even have a career in the government to begin with.” He shifted the violin of his shoulder and stared out the window. “Mycroft wanted to be a writer when we were children. Always making up stories when we were bored.” Sherlock walked away from the window to safely keep his violin. “When he wasn’t writing, he was painting.”

“Sherlock, as much as I want to hate your uncle, it looks like Mycroft chose to --”

“Uncle Rudy was determined to at least have one of his nephews follow in his footsteps,” said Sherlock. “If Mycroft hadn’t done it, I would certainly have been forced to.”

“And Mycroft wasn’t going to let his younger brother give up his future of becoming a pirate,” finished Mary for him. “If you feel this way, why must you always -- ”

“What’s the alternative? Show the entire world that I could be used as a means to get to the Ice Man?” asked Sherlock with a glare. “Why do you think Moriarty didn’t have a bullet for Mycroft? Because I played my part well. The world knows that I wouldn’t do anything for my brother and vice versa.”

“That’s not how Magnussen saw it,” said John.

“Magnussen saw me as a pressure point,” argued Sherlock. “A man with a drug habit that could ruin Mycroft’s influence but Mycroft has made it perfectly well known in his circle that what I do is in no reflection to him whatsoever.”

“Maybe because he’s doing the same thing as you are,” pointed out Mary. “Making sure his enemies don’t hurt you to get to him.”

“Regardless,” said Sherlock vehemently. “Mycroft chose to be our uncle’s pawn. He chose to leave. Yes, I hate him for leaving me. But the main cause of that resentment is the man who gave him the option to begin with.”

“Well he had good reason,” said John. “Like it or not, your brother’s job is important. And besides doing that job, he still manages to make sure you stay alive and mostly out of trouble. Yes, he made his choice. The choice any older brother would have done.”

“We could have escaped him together,” replied Sherlock as he sat down in his chair. “But instead he chose to leave me behind.”

“Sherlock, I think it was more he was looking out for you.” reasoned Mary. “When you were having your drug--”

Sherlock waved an impatient hand towards her, not wanting her to finish that statement. Because he did remember that. He remembered every version of those events, what had transpired inside his own mind and what was transpiring in the real world. Any version of his brother would always be there for him. Always.

“Which now leads us to the question,” said John, turning to meet his friend’s gaze. “What could be so important with ‘Sherrinford’ that would prompt a then dying Mycroft to mention it?”


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sherlock wanted to hit something. No actually, scratch that. He wanted to put a bullet into his uncle who should frankly mind his own bloody business.

He was banned from the medical facility. He wasn’t told any bit of news with regards to his brother. Sherlock knew that Mycroft should be awake by now, should probably be out of the hospital and back to work. It’s been weeks for god’s sake -- but not one word.

He went to the window, and sure enough, his uncle’s minions (not Mycroft’s because his brother’s men were more discreet) were still there. If Mycroft was already back to work, then his uncle would be back being a nuisance to someone else.

On top of it all, he had not made any headway on his brother’s request. Then again, Mycroft was no longer dying. Maybe Sherlock should leave Sherrinford when he could exchange a word with his brother and not have their controlling uncle peering over their shoulders.

What was the man’s interest anyway? He was here just to fill in while Mycroft was recuperating. Sherlock doubted Mycroft was worse for wear. He had seen his brother deal with more life threatening injuries before -- then again, that was when Mycroft was younger.

No--he shouldn’t dwell on that. The only reason why he hadn’t heard from Mycroft is because their uncle was trying to get on his younger nephew’s nerves. Fine.

Besides...Mycroft had openly given Sherlock a case. A mystery. Sherlock’s time was better off being focused on that instead of trying to find a means to piss off his uncle.

The Case of Sherrinford.

A case Sherlock could not find any leads to. A mystery he was dumbfounded to this day and its been weeks.

Sherlock clenched his fists. He hated not knowing. He hated being stumped like this. Trust his brother to be the one to give him a difficult case.

In frustration, Sherlock grabbed the nearest object to him, which turned out to be a book, and hurled it towards the door.

Barely missing the woman who had entered his flat.

Brilliant. He had no social reserves to deal with anyone, let alone a person with a nervous disposition, given his current predicament. Why did he call Wiggins tonight anyway?

Oh, yes. To piss off his uncle.

“Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock blinked and the woman was still there. He turned back to the woman, he hadn’t noticed a taxi stop in front of his door. How the hell did she arrive?

The woman eyed him nervously. She was frail, wearing an ankle-length, dark red long-sleeved dress. She held the cane in her hand like it was a lifeline. 

“Yes?” Sherlock finally said, willing himself to focus. This might be the distraction he needed. Or a way to piss his uncle even more. Hopefully it will be an interesting case.

“I need your help.”

* * *

He sighed as he waited by the hall. Why of all nights did he have the worst luck in history? If it had been Mr. Holmes, things would probably be different and he wouldn’t be this nervous.

But no -- it was his predecessor.

The rumor mill had been all over the place ever since Mr. Holmes had been shot. No one wanted to stick their nose on anything above a civilian clearance. This was not the time to try and be smart. This was the time to keep your head down and not be noticed by the man who had long retired but whose name still made people cower in fear.

True enough, that was what he, the poor unfortunate soul told to fetch the man, did as Rudy Vernet walked out into the hall, phone in hand, wearing a black suit and with matching bowtie.

“For God’s sake,” Rudy Vernet exasperated. “I was having a splendid time with the Prime Minister.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Vernet.” began the man, nervously. “It’s your nephew.”

“Has something happened?” came the quick concerned question which made the man wince.

“No, I’m sorry, not about Mycroft Holmes, sir. It’s about Sherlock Holmes.” Rudy sighed in relief but gave the man a hard stare. The man fidgeted in his spot. He wasn’t having the best of night.

Rudy raised an eyebrow at him as though he was talking to a duck. “And?”

“He’s left his flat.”

“Was it on fire?” replied Rudy, facetiously. “Speak up man, I haven’t got all night.”

“No, sir,” said the man hurriedly. “He just left.”

“And I suppose the men we have watching him are hot on his tail?” asked Rudy, challenging the man to answer differently.

The man swallowed the growing lump in his throat. Should he start saying farewells to everyone he knew? “Sir, well -- they didn’t leave their post. Because they were assigned to watch 221B, report anyone entering or leaving the flat. They weren’t told to--”

Rudy Vernet walked away, mobile already pressed unto his ear, shouting for someone’s incompetence and the man sighed, leaning back towards the wall.

* * *

“I’ll kill him,” mumbled John as he sleepy tried to get his phone from the side table.

“It could be a case,” said Mary to his side as she covered her head with their duvet.

“Case or no case, Rosie’s finally asleep and her father should be too,” hissed John as he finally grasped his phone but stopped short when he saw an unregistered number.

Mary, not hearing her husband answer the phone, lifted the duvet to turn to him. “What’s wrong?”

John showed her the number and Mary sighed. “No doubt that’s a secure line.”

“I doubt it’s Mycroft,” replied John.

“Shouldn’t you answer it, then?” asked Mary, eyeing John as he put the phone on silent and placed back on the table. “Might be about Sherlock?”

“Of course it’s about Sherlock.” mumbled John as he laid back down. “Everything’s about Sherlock. But the man specifically told me not to entertain his uncle. For once, I’m glad to take his advice.”

Mary smiled and shook her head. “If he’s anything like Mycroft, you know he’s going to ring again.”

“Let him.” said John, eyes already closed. “I’m stubborn enough to get my daughter to sleep after three hours of trying. I can ignore his calls for far longer.”

* * *

In a surveillance room, presumably in MI5’s headquarters, a wall full of screens was showing CCTV footage of various areas of the city as well as live footage from a helicopter. Two screens to the left, have street maps of the area east of Hyde Park, one in slightly tighter focus than the other. A red dot was flashing and bleeping on one of the maps.

Rudy Vernet entered the room, and you could practically hear a spec of dust land on the floor at how quiet and tense the room suddenly became. He had a very grim and annoyed look on his face as he walked over to Lady Smallwood standing behind the computer desks.

“We can keep tabs, you know,” replied Lady Smallwood, not looking up at him. “You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

“I’ve underestimated William more times than I can count,” answered Rudy. “Such a shame he had to do it tonight when I was finally having a decent conversation with the Prime Minister.”

“Oh, I see.” replied Lady Smallwood with a roll of her eyes. “You do remember that you are here on a temporary basis.”

“Nothing wrong with expanding my contact list,” replied Rudy, studying the monitor. “What’s he doing? Why’s he just wandering about like a fool?”

“His brother almost died due to his own actions,” replied Lady Smallwood. “He’s probably just still in shock. Especially since he doesn’t know anything about Mycroft’s recovery.”

“He’s grown too dependent on Mycroft and he needs to learn that he cannot always rely on his brother.” replied Rudy. “Mycroft will die eventually. His pet doctor will too. Everybody dies.” Rudy said pointedly at her, digging the knife deeper. “It’s the one thing human beings can be relied upon to do. How can it still come as a surprise to people when someone they care about are on their deathbed?”

“You sound cross.” gibed Lady Smallwood. “Am I going to be taken away by security just as you had me escorted out of Mycroft’s room?”

“I have, I think, apologized extensively.” replied Rudy with a glare. “You were agitating him.”

“Me?” said Lady Smallwood with a raised eyebrow. “I think he was looking at you when his heart rate increased.”

“Yes, well, I apologize,” said Rudy, turning back to the screen. “I hold my nephew’s wellbeing at the topmost importance. You know that.”

“Oh, I know,” replied Lady Smallwood. “I just thought you’d make it up to me. You know, just like old times…”

Rudy’s head snapped towards her direction as Lady Smallwood smiled and turned back to the monitors. Rudy glared at her but resumed his observation of his other nephew’s recent activity.

Suddenly, he heard the barely concealed laughter from some of the agents. Rudy, turned to them with a stern look.

“What is it now?” he demanded and all at once, the room suddenly became still and silent once more.

“I think,” dared Lady Smallwood, amused by how the other man still had such effect on a room of far younger agents, some who haven’t got any idea how dangerous Rudy Vernet could actually be. “It’s because they traced his route on the map.”

Rudy stared at the street map on the agent’s computer screen. It showed in red, the route that Sherlock had taken from the Marylebone area in a south-easterly direction down towards Piccadilly Circus. On several occasions, Sherlock had disappeared from the surveillance and so the red lines are broken and only appear on certain roads and sections of road.

U

C

K

O

F F

Rudy fumed just as Sherlock passed through another surveillance camera. He was looking directly at it, with a wide smug grin on his face as he raised a soda can in salute before drinking from it.

Rudy glared at the agent who all swallowed the growing lumps in their throat. “Is he with someone?”

“Not sure, sir,” came the quick reply. “We keep losing visual. Mostly, we’re tracking his phone.”

* * *

Mary shouldn’t have been surprised that it was her phone that started to ring next.

“Just ignore it.” mumbled John from her side.

“We ignore him and he’ll send the entire Secret Service to our front door,” replied Mary. “Trust me. I’ve dealt with men like him before.”

“Fine,” mumbled John, grabbing her phone and putting it on speaker.

“Mr. Vernet was it?” began John, not letting the man speak. “We are trying to sleep? Can you stop ringing our damn phones? You are aware we have a child who had just gone down for the night? Or have you practised any form of courtesy and not have our home under surveillance.”

“I wouldn’t be bothering you and Mrs. Watson on a night like this if it wasn’t important, doctor,” John rolled his eyes as the man mentioned his job in a form of respect, but they both knew it was far from it. “My younger nephew has left his flat for the first time in days. I’m having him tracked.”

“Nice. It’s very touching how you can hijack the machinery of the state to look after your own family.” replied John with a roll of his eyes as Mary watched in amusement. “Can we go to sleep now?”

“William deviating from his routine is a legitimate security concern.” argued the man over the phone.

“Maybe if you gave him an update on his brother’s health, he wouldn’t be a security concern,” fired back Mary.

“Whether he is informed of Mycroft’s wellbeing doesn’t change the fact that Sherlock is a risk when he goes rogue,” said Rudy. “The fact that I’m his uncle changes absolutely nothing. It didn’t the last time with their other--”

Both Watsons turned to each other and mouthed ‘their other’ to one another.

Rudy stopped himself as Lady Smallwood turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “With their other exploits. I assure you, it won’t...this time”

“Sorry,” began John. “What?”

“Please phone me if he gets in contact. Thank you.” said Rudy, ending the call without another word.

John turned to Mary who had an equally confused look on her face. “What was that about?”

Lady Smallwood turned to Rudy as he shifted his attention back to the monitors. “You met with the governor?”

“I get regular updates.” said Rudy. “I may be retired but no one can handle Sherrinford best but me.”

“I disagree,” replied Lady Smallwood. 

“Sherrinford is secure to this day because of it.” argued Rudy. “Mycroft cannot handle it with a clear head. Look what happened when he let his sibling consult.” He eyed her. “You were interrogated, were you not?”

“He had due cause,” defended Lady Smallwood.

“Yes, well,” said Rudy, eyeing the screen. “A mistake like that, with Sherrinford concerned, would be catastrophic.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spent my birthday writing and that is why we have this new chapter! Enjoy!

Chapter 5

“We have new minders,” whispered Mary as she and John with little Rosie headed home from Sunday lunch at 221B.

It had been a month since the incident with Vivian Norbury. Mycroft was still at the medical facility recuperating and Sherlock still had not been able to see his brother, nor even be informed if Mycroft was conscious or coherent. Rudy Vernet certainly made sure of that. Sherlock had tried. Even John had tried getting an update, as they were all growing more concerned by the lack of news, but even he came empty handed. They were just told the same thing. That Mycroft was recuperating and had no time for visitors.

To top it all, Rudy Vernet also made sure that his nephew was not given any official work from Scotland Yard, having Sherlock’s status as a consultant put into question after the recent case resulted in a civil servant’s almost death.

“Maybe they could be persuaded to be part time babysitters of an actual baby,” commented John as he caught a glimpse of the two people tailing them. “At the rate we’re going, it’ll be Rosie's birthday before we find a nanny.”

“I’m sure we’ll find someone eventually,” replied Mary. “We could always ask Sherlock.”

John made a face which made Mary retract her statement. “When the current case is done, I mean.”

“I prefer to not have this case to begin with,” replied John. “And as my wife, shouldn’t you be on my side.”

“As my husband, shouldn’t you be asking my permission first before going off to who knows where?” challenged Mary with a smile.

John turned his head slightly and then gave Mary a bright smile. “And yet, my dear wife, you agreed with Sherlock.”

“It’s for a case,” argued Mary with a small smile, stealing a kiss from her husband. “If it actually distracts Sherlock from going after the government, couldn’t hurt now could it.”

“Seems like Rudy Vernet deserves whatever mischief Sherlock can come up with,” said John with a snort. Remembering the late night phone call. “Besides, there’s still a chance that Sherlock could be wrong with his current dragon to slay.”

“He’s Sherlock Holmes,” replied Mary. “He’s never wrong.”

John snorted at that. Sherlock Holmes was using again. He would never encourage that particular habit -- no matter how many times Sherlock says it is for a case. Frankly, John thinks Sherlock using again is all just to piss his uncle or get Mycroft worried enough to escape the hospital and head to 221B.

“What if this woman was some drug induced hallucination?” tried John.

Mary gave him a look and John just shrugged. “Look, I don’t like the man myself but Sherlock may be going in over his head. An outlet for his anger at not being able to solve the other case he has and having someone even more overbearing than Mycroft.”

“You said he freaked you out,” pointed out Mary.

“Well all businessmen freak me out,” replied John. “It’s like they want you to sell your soul or something.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Yes, Dr. John Watson gets freaked out by entrepreneurs who donates to charities but not by consulting detectives, consulting civil servants, consulting criminals and is married to probably someone that can be classified as a consulting assassin.”

John glared at her. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the other way around.” replied Mary with a smile.

* * *

He groaned as he tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed. If he was to spend another day in bed, he would kill himself. Much like anyone, he hated boredom. He needed something to do -- maybe not even a physical activity. He needed to keep his mind occupied.

Whoever suggested this month long recuperation would be saying goodbye to London, no to civilization as a whole, and would be leaving for the most hellish place the planet could offer. He hadn’t gotten an infection due to his gunshot wound. Yes, there was pain but not something he had not experienced before. If he could get out of the bed then maybe he would get used to the pain and recover quicker.

He pushed himself off the bed to a standing position, his body quickly rebelling against his spirit as his entire body pulsed with pain, radiating from his abdomen. Damn it. He had been more gravely injured than this. It had taken a shorter recovery period and he was quickly back on his feet.

And yet, as he had mentioned to countless people, middle age comes to all.

He inhaled deeply, trying to muddle through the pain just until he could grab the walking stick by the chair. The nurse or whoever minder assigned to him must have thought he was too stubborn to try walk unaided. They had no idea.

He took one step and the door opened.

“Do you honestly think I would let you out of bed, let alone this room, when you were told to take it easy, Mr. Holmes?”

Mycroft sighed as an elderly gentleman took his arm and all but manhandled him back on the bed. The other man may be more advanced in age than Mycroft was but Mycroft knew better than to try and fight a previous agent, especially his uncle’s former assistant.

Philip Tyers had been in service of Rudy Vernet for close to three decades, two in the field and one as a personal assistant. Rudy Vernet wasn’t much for field work, even in his younger days. He then hired people who could be his eyes and ears, Tyers had been one of them and one that Rudy saw promise. When Rudy had retired and left his home to Mycroft, the young man had asked if Tyers would be willing to stay under his employment which Tyers happily accepted.

“Mr. Tyers, I assure you I am quite capable--” began Mycroft but his valet, previously his uncle’s valet, raised his hand.

“As I would usually not be the person to speak out of turn, Mr. Holmes,” began the elderly gentleman who equaled Mycroft in height. “But as you’ve proven time and time again, you cannot be trusted when your own well-being is concerned.”

“That time in Croatia doesn’t count,” mumbled Mycroft.

“I concede Croatia but bring up, Sydney, Beijing, Moscow, Budapest and Argentina,” replied the man with a raised eyebrow. “And those were the ones when I was still active. Might I confer with Ms. Anthea for a more detailed list?”

“Condescending isn’t a good look on you, Mr. Tyers,” replied Mycroft with a resignation. “I just cannot stand being invalid for a prolonged period of time.”

“I understand your mindset, Mr. Holmes,” began Mr. Tyers. “But there is a reason why you must take it easy. That bullet did more damage than you initially thought. Best just follow the doctors unless you want to prolong your confinement.”

Mycroft sighed once more and nodded. “Has my uncle returned?”

Since he had woken up to the hospital, his uncle had been by his side. He was surprised but quickly remembered the many plans if any one of him, Alicia or Edwin would be unable to accomplish their respective duties. His parents were both wanting to take a trip to London just to make sure he was taking care of himself properly, Mycroft was at least glad the presence of his uncle helped him escape that. Their constant check-ins were driving him mad but he understood their worry. 

“No, sir and he said to expect him later than usual,” answered Mr. Tyers.

“What about--”

“He has not tried to break into the house,” answered Tyers, without missing a beat. “No calls as well.”

“Anthea--”

“Has also not been bothered,” replied Tyers quickly. “And before you ask, no London hasn’t gone to the ground. Perhaps he is occupied with a case.”

Mycroft frowned at that. It was one thing for Sherlock to ignore him when he tries to bring his younger brother a case -- but to have no word whatsoever from Sherlock after the shooting?

“I’m sure your uncle has been keeping him informed of your health,” tried Mr. Tyers.

Mycroft winced. Sherlock and Uncle Rudy didn’t have the most civil relationship, it was the exact opposite. There was no way in hell that Uncle Rudy would willingly allow him to have any constant contact with his younger nephew.

If Sherlock wasn’t asking about him, then Sherlock didn’t care about him. Plain and simple.

It just didn’t go to what he could remember from that day at the aquarium. Mycroft sighed as Mr. Tyers left to fetch him some water. It was all rather hazy but he remembered his brother reassuring him that help was on the way -- Sherlock’s eyes wide with concern. He had thought that upon waking up and being discharged from the hospital that Sherlock would be hiding in his home, awaiting to annoy him.

But Sherlock had not made an appearance, at the hospital or even now. Could it be because of the presence of their uncle? No, that would have just encouraged Sherlock to do some mischief.

If Sherlock was keeping his distance, it was by choice. Mycroft just wished he knew what he could have possibly done now to earn his brother’s ire.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Hiring a nanny was becoming the most daunting task John Watson had ever performed in his life.

He and Mary had first decided on a nanny who would live with them but when the people they managed to interview were proving to rob them of any savings they had managed, John had breached the subject of exploring live out nannies.

This one he was visiting seemed good enough. She lived closed by and judging from her previous work, she seemed well qualified for the job.

John knocked on the door and waited patiently. Usually it was Mary who would be doing this but Mrs. Hudson had called earlier that day asking for reinforcements with regards to Sherlock -- and John wouldn’t be bothered especially given the nature of Sherlock’s predicament was drug induced…

“Hello,” came the greeting and John was startled out of his thoughts as a woman who was older than him by a few years had opened the door and was looking at him intently.

“Hello,” replied John in greeting, blushing slightly at being caught daydreaming. “John Watson. I believe my wife got in touch about--”

“Oh yes, yes,” replied the woman, a hint of a German accent lining her words. “Do come in, Dr. Watson. I had expected your wife to--”

“Yes, she was tied up with a patient,” replied John, clearing his throat. Mary had been at 221B since that morning, who knows what was happening with the younger Holmes. “So, Ella was it?”

“Yes,” replied Ella, motioning for John to sit. “Please.”

John sat opposite her and couldn’t stop himself from looking around. Years of association with Sherlock Holmes resulted in him adapting a few of his friend’s habits. “Nice place.”

Most of the items he could see were very expensive and would probably cost John a year of his salary.

“My sister’s a bit picky with regards to interior decorating, being one herself,” replied the woman as she tucked a strand of her greying shoulder length hair behind an ear.

“She’s ok with you taking a job then?” asked John, reviewing what Mary had told him about the woman’s past experience.

“I’ve been growing bored since I retired, Dr. Watson,” replied Ella with a gentle smile. “My sister suggested a part time job-- and of course with my background taking care of children--”

Just then the sound of a car accelerating hard can be heard outside. John turned his head towards the front room and a red car could be seen through the window. It did a dramatic U-turn with a squeal of tyres and stopped outside the house followed by the sound of shattering glass. A black plastic rubbish bin then flew through the air and crashed to the ground. 

John was up and opening the front door in an instant. He could hear the siren drawing closer and above them a helicopter was hovering close by. Oh this was definitely not--

His thoughts were interrupted as the door of the car opened and the sound of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 (Ode to Joy) can be heard from the car’s stereo.

“John.”

John groaned as Mary got out of the passenger side. Mary quickly turned to the other woman. “Hello, Ella? I’m sorry for this -- bit of an emergency. Mary Watson.”

“Hello…” came the hesitant reply. 

“What’s going on?” asked John as Mary walked over to him.

“No idea,” replied Mary. “I was just told to get in the car.”

“Who on earth let Sherlock Holmes own a car?!”

“Oh that’s not Sherlock’s car, darling,” replied Mary as the driver finally got out and John turned only for his mouth to drop in surprise.

“Mrs. Hudson?!”

* * *

“And?”

Anthea had been reporting to Mycroft everyday given the status of all their current projects. Rudy Vernet was overseeing many things but at the end of the day, since Mycroft was already up and about, he still had the final say on matters and should be kept informed. Though Rudy vernet made it perfectly clear that Mycroft should not be bothered by trivial things -- let alone anything that might cost him stress.

Anthea gave Mycroft a look but her boss just shrugged. “I doubt he has ears even here and Mr Tyers won’t rat you out.”

“Sir, I don’t--”

“You know the lengths I would go to for my brother, Anthea,” began Mycroft. “Either tell me what you know or I try to escape this prison cell that my own home has become and find out for myself.”

He knew that look. Frankly, they both knew each other so well after all these years. Anthea knew when something was bothering Mycroft and which expression to look out for her when it was regarding a particular Holmes. Mycroft, on the other hand, knew when Anthea’s mind was on Sherlock. Normally when she’s debating whether to inform Mycroft of what shenanigans Sherlock had gotten himself into once more.

Anthea sighed in resignation before handing him a tablet. “Culverton Smith.”

“Who?” asked Mycroft in confusion. He usually knew everyone that needed to be known but this current name was escaping him.

“Prominent entrepreneur and philanthropist,” replied Anthea. “He’s been under observation for a few years already. I think you might know him better given his methods.” Mycroft studied the file and frowned. Oh, this pathetic excuse of a human being. More vile than Magnuessen if Mycroft could voice out his opinion. “Your brother brought Smith’s -- activities to light.”

“By endangering himself in the process,” said Mycroft with a resigned sigh. “I’m guessing John wasn’t keen on the idea.”

“He and Sherlock exchanged words, though Mary had stated that she was on the lookout,” relayed Anthea as she summarized what was caught in the surveillance of 221B. “Your brother was a bit too keen in making himself bait for another madman.”

“He always does,” said Mycroft, handing her back the file. “Of course the icing on the cake is he had to do it on the days leading up to his birthday.”

“Getting high on drugs to get Smith’s attention, hallucinating and walking around London to piss off your uncle, bagging a mad serial killer,” said Anthea. “And getting a text from the Woman, who you failed to mention was alive.”

“I’m pretty sure you doubted the reports from the very beginning,” replied Mycroft.

“Still would have preferred to be informed,” said Anthea. “Nevertheless, your uncle’s sweep of 221B gave us an excuse to do some maintenance on surveillance. And to put your mind at ease, there were no drugs. He took whatever he needed to take to get Smith’s attention, nothing more.

“That's good to know.” said Mycroft with resignation.

“I’m sorry--” began Anthea but Mycroft cut her off with a raised hand.

“Nothing to apologize for,” said Mycroft. “Sherlock does value his cases above everything else. Given the nature of this one, I can understand why he hasn’t bothered to annoy his invalid older brother.”

“I think there’s more to it than that,” said Anthea, her voice betraying her own thoughts on the matter and Mycroft raised his head to meet her gaze.

They locked eyes for a moment but nothing else was said. There was no need for words anyway. 

“Hmmm,” began Mycroft, placing his two hands together in front of his face and leaning his head forward, his lips grazing the tips of his Index fingers. “Anything noteworthy?”

“None...yet.” replied Anthea as she tidied up the folders and reports. “But I will let you know of any further development.” She stood and eyed him. “Anything else, Mr. Holmes?”

“That will be all, thank you Anthea.” replied Mycroft, nodding her way. Anthea left without another word and Mycroft resumed his position, deep in thought.

So, his uncle was keeping Sherlock away. For what reason? Uncle Rudy had always made his displeasure of Sherlock known. As Mycroft was overbearing towards Sherlock, his uncle was the same towards him and his mother.

Rudy had always been wary of Sherlock. There were times that Mycroft had to interfere lest Sherlock find himself in some holding facility orchestrated by their own uncle. Since the day of the fire, Rudy had always looked at Sherlock as though he too was a ticking time bomb.

Or maybe…

Mycroft’s eyes widened.

Could it be? Blast his mind for not remembering everything that had transpired in that aquarium. What are the chances that he, Mycroft Holmes, at the mere thought of dying, would give one last case for his brother to solve?

But if Sherlock had figured it out already then he wouldn’t waste his time on a case of the likes of Culverton Smith--unless he was still digging and the reason why Uncle Rudy was barring Sherlock from seeing him was because…

“Mycroft! You should be in bed!” came the voice and Mycroft jumped in surprise as his uncle walked into the room. “See? Normally you would have heard my approach a mile away. You are overtaxing yourself.”

“Uncle I--”

“No buts,” said Rudy with a glare. “Don’t tell me you’re fine because we both know you are not and the mere movement is still causing you pain.”

Mycroft sighed. This was probably what Sherlock felt whenever his older brother came calling. Regardless, he needed to get back on his feet if he wanted to discuss a few things with his brother, without the presence of their uncle anywhere near.

Wait, a moment.

“Are you going somewhere?” asked Mycroft, eyeing his uncle’s appearance. “Another dinner with our dear PM?”

“Alicia offered to have drinks since she’ll be on leave for a while,” Rudy replied with a shrug as he fixed his bowtie.

“Oh did she?” asked Mycroft with a raised eyebrow. “Making it up to her like old times, are we uncle?”

Rudy glared. “Stop being cheeky and get back to bed, ye who has a bullet wound in his abdomen.”

* * *

“Things are wrapped up, I take it?” asked Ella as she handed Mary a cup of tea.

“Yes, sorry you had to witness that,” replied Mary, nodding her head in thanks for the tea. “But with you coming in as Rosie’s nanny, you’ll probably get used to all the craziness that is our lives.”

“Yours and Sherlock Holmes’?” asked Ella with a smile that concerned Mary. She had to school her features to not make it look like warning signals were ringing in her head.

“Well he is Rosie’s godfather,” replied Mary as she set the cup down. John said she was ok. She seemed ok when Mary talked to her on the phone but why was her instincts going into overdrive right this moment.

“How is Sherlock Holmes?” asked Ella, eyeing her intensely and Mary forced herself to meet the other woman’s eye.

“Back to normal,” replied Mary with a shrug. “He and John are currently meeting with a client. Something about being possessed by the devil or something.”

“What about his sibling?”

Mary paused but quickly schooled her features. So, the end goal, getting to the British Government. Maybe Mycroft would let them have a bit of fun this time. It’s not everyday someone foil’s a plan to overthrow the British Government.

“Mycroft? Fine, from what I know.” replied Mary. “I mean, obviously ‘normal’ and ‘fine’ are both relative terms when it comes to the Holmes’ family.”

“Obviously,” replied Ella with a chuckle. “But I wasn’t talking about Mycroft. I meant the other one.”

Mary’s blood ran cold. Oh, this certainly was not good. “Wh-which other one?”

“Oh don’t play dumb,” began Ella, or whatever this woman was. Bloody marvelous time to not bring anything with you to use as a weapon, Mary. 

“I never mentioned another sibling.”

“Oh,” replied the woman thoughtfully. “Well, maybe Sherlock told me. I met him before, you see. We spent a night together. It was rather lovely. We had chips.”

“Smith’s daughter,” whispered Mary in realization. 

“Culverton gave me Faith’s original note.” replied the woman with a smile as she stood. “A mutual friend put us in touch.”

She walked across to the French windows and turned the key in the lock of the door, removing the key afterwards before turning back to smile at Mary. 

“Did Sherlock ever tell you about the note?” asked the woman who had promptly dropped her previous accent to one which Mary noted as completely English. She tossed Mary the key and tossed the glasses she wore on the floor. “I added some deductions for Sherlock. He was ... quite good but as always, didn’t get the big one.”

“What do you want?” asked Mary, ready to spring up from her position if the need arose. There was something dangerous about this woman and she clearly had her eyes on Sherlock and Mycroft.

“A bit of reconnaissance work, if you will,” said the woman with a smile. “You know all about that don’t you?”

Mary made to move but the second she tried the woman raised a gun and aimed her way. 

“Oh, please don’t go anywhere. I’m sure the person who actually lives here wouldn’t want blood on the carpet.” the woman dropped her smile and thought for a moment before looking back at Mary. “Oh, hang on, it’s fine. She’s in a sack in the airing cupboard.”

“Who are you?” asked Mary calmly. Even with the gun aimed her way, by the looks of it, a bullet isn’t the one inside it. More like a dart of some kind. Even if it were poisoned, she could get away and find a phone--

“Isn’t it obvious?” asked the woman as she dropped the gun to her side and walked forward a few steps. “Haven’t you guessed? I’m Eurus.”

“Eurus?” That’s a weird name--

“Silly name, isn’t it? Greek. Means the East Wind.” explained the woman, Eurus. “My parents loved silly names, like Eurus ... or Sherlock... or Mycroft.”

Mary’s eyes widened in realization. A sister. So this was the person Rudy Vernet was talking about. But why did she appear now? What was happening? 

“What do you want?”

“Pass a message for me.” replied Eurus with a smile as she raised the gun and fired.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas! Hope you and your loved ones are safe and healthy!

Chapter 7

Mycroft was encouraged to try and use the treadmill a couple of minutes a day to help with his physical therapy. Even if they hadn’t told him to, he would still have used the thing. For some reason, running helped him think.

It’s aid in helping him keep fit and lose a few pounds was an added bonus.

Though given recent events, he didn’t push himself too far. Only a couple minutes of walking already made his body rebel.

Mycroft was trained in masking pain, fooling the body with a powerful command from the mind. He’d been doing it since who knows how long. It was a talent that he shared with most of his family, even his self-proclaimed ordinary father who was not the least bit ordinary and could give anyone a run for their money if he put his mind to it.

Thinking about his father, and by association his mother, made Mycroft smile gently. They had phoned that morning, a routine that has been set up since he was discharged from the hospital. As much as he couldn’t stand their constant worry, he loved the fact that his parents always tried to make him laugh, even a snort of amusement would be counted as a victory.

But beside that, his uncle and mother’s bickering had been all for show the past few days. Clearly, his relationship with his brother had been inherited from the maternal side of the family.

His body seemed to have gotten used to the mere activity of walking, so Mycroft turned the settings up slightly. He had managed to last a couple of minutes of brisk walking that turned into a jog the other day. He could probably push his body to last longer today.

He had to be up and ready to take on the world if he wanted to pursue his suspicions. No way would his uncle let him leave the house if he couldn’t walk by himself.

The dull ache was there but he pushed it at the back of his mind and kept moving. 

After three decades of having to keep his mouth shut, of fearing the worst, of always having to make sure that his uncle kept his word, Mycroft could finally see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel he was on. If his assumption was right and he had mentioned something to Sherlock as he laid down, bleeding -- then finally, FINALLY! He could hope once again of being able to save the one person beside Sherlock he vowed to protect…

He had been too engrossed with his own thoughts to hear the sound of the quiet approach of someone who kept to the shadows until they gently placed a hand on his arm.

This sudden gesture startled Mycroft and he sharply turned towards the person only for his eyes to widen in surprise and he lost his footing. He fell on the treadmill and even though the setting wasn’t as high as he usually had it -- he was thrown to the nearest wall.

Pain flared from his abdomen and not even having the energy to shout as his entire body felt like it was on fire. His vision darkened around the edges but he felt more than saw a figure kneel down beside him.

“...no...I…”

He couldn’t comprehend what the figure was saying as his own mind rebelled with his intentions. His vision continued to darken even as he blinked at the figured kneeling by his side.

“Mikey.”

That voice...he’d heard that voice before.

_“Brother! Help!”_

It was the last thing that registered in his mind as the darkness finally won.

* * *

Tyers looked at his pocket watch and sighed. Trust Mycroft Holmes to not follow doctor’s orders and push his body beyond the limit. He prepared a tray of tea and biscuits just as Rudy Vernet arrived home.

“Let me guess,” said Rudy with an exasperated sigh. “Exercise room?”

“For the past hour,” answered Tyers. “Even locked the door and told me under no circumstances should I interrupt.”

“Yes, well I’m a whole different sort of circumstance,” said Rudy as the two elderly men marched towards the room. They could still here the treadmill running and Rudy felt some bit of irritation at how stubborn his eldest nephew could be. True enough, the door was locked.

“Mycroft, don’t make me call your mother,” said Rudy as he hit the door with his fist. “I shouldn’t be making these sort of threats when you’re supposed to be a responsible--”

The silence made both Rudy and Tyers take pause. “Sir, allow me.”

Tyers placed the tray on the floor as Rudy walked away. Time was of the essence so searching for a key was not an option. Tyers straightened, and in one quick motion, kicked the door open and Rudy quickly entered the room. The treadmill was running but no one was using it and--

“Mycroft!”

He heard Tyers already informing Anthea of the situation as he rushed to his nephew’s side.

His nephew was on the floor by the opposite wall, legs drawn slightly towards his torso. Even from where he stood, Rudy could see the bloodstain on Mycroft’s shirt---

* * *

“You sure you’re alright?”

Mary rolled her eyes as John handed her a cup of tea. “Fine. It was a tranquilizer dart.”

“It still could be--”

Mary pointed towards Sherlock who was already looking at something under a microscope. “Sherlock?”

“Standard sedative, not tranquilizer,” reported Sherlock, still looking at his microscope. “Though I don’t think people use the phrase ‘sedative darts’, so I understand that mistake.”

Again, Mary rolled her eyes. Trust her boys to cope with an attack with humor and mothering.

“So…” began John turning to Sherlock who finally looked up from his microscope and sat in his usual chair. “A sister?”

“That I have no recollection whatsoever,” said Sherlock, deep in thought.

“But explains Sherrinford,” added John as Sherlock ignored him. “We told you what your uncle said, Sherlock. Maybe this is what Mycroft wanted you to look into.”

“Why didn’t he bring it up beforehand?” said Sherlock, the tone of his voice obvious. He was mad. Mad at Mycroft. Mad at his uncle. Maybe even mad at his parents. “Not one memory that I have ever pointed to me having a sister--”

“What’s your earliest memory?” asked Mary as both John and Sherlock turned to her.

“I don’t see how that is relevant--”

“Sherlock, what’s your earliest memory?” repeated Mary. “Because I have a hunch it’s not a young 2 or 3 year old but somewhere around--”

“7.” answered Sherlock with a frown. “My earliest would be 7 and in my parents’ home.”

“So there is a chance that you deleted everything else before you were 7,” said John. “We both know you delete things in your head, Sherlock. Maybe the reason why Mycroft and your parents haven’t brought up Eurus is because you had some reason for deleting her in your mind.”

“Which brings me back to the question: why would Mycroft bring it up when he was dying?” said Sherlock, standing to pace the living room.

“You know your brother, Sherlock,” began Mary, draining her cup and clutching it with both hands. “Mycroft does everything he can to take care of his sibling, in this case, both his siblings.”

“He didn’t want to die without you knowing,” offered John. “I doubt your parents or your uncle would bring it up.”

“No…” began Sherlock, trying to piece it all together. “It wouldn’t be that simple. Mycroft wouldn’t just say that as a final word at his deathbed. There’s more to this than just Eurus being my sister or that I deleted her.” He paused and eyed John. “He said this was a case.”

“But what does he want you to solve?” asked John. “Why did you delete her?”

“No, Mycroft already knows that, even if I don’t,” said Sherlock, turning to look at the mirror. “There’s something else we’re missing…”

John made to reply but his phone suddenly rang and he turned to see it was Greg. “Greg, now isn’t--yup, I’m with him---ok, I’m putting you on speaker.”

He turned to look at Sherlock. “It’s Greg. Said it was urgent. Needed to speak to both of us.” He pressed a button. “We can all hear you now, Greg.”

“Anthea called.” began Greg over the phone. “I don’t know much yet and I’m heading over to the hospital just as a precaution and routine.”

John’s head turned quickly to Sherlock at the word hospital but they didn’t dare interrupt Greg.

“Mycroft was brought in. Tyers and Rudy Vernet found him on the floor, bleeding. The door to the room was locked. They’re not suspecting anything just yet but Vernet is being cautious and wants to report the incident to be safe.” finished Greg.

“How long ago?” asked Sherlock.

“Anthea called me just as the ambulance arrived at Mycroft’s place, that was roughly 45 minutes ago.” said Greg. “I know your uncle has been keeping you in the dark with regards to your brother, just thought you should know.”

“Thanks Greg,” said John as it looked like Sherlock wasn’t going to say more. “Let us know when you hear anything more.”

“Right.” Greg terminated the call as both Watsons turned to Sherlock.

“What are you going to do now?” asked John.

“Like I said,” began Sherlock, eyeing his reflection before turning to John. “There’s something else we’re missing and it’s high time I went and followed a lead.” 

“Your uncle won’t just tell you anything even if you do downright confront him,” argued John.

“Then what do you propose I do?” fired back Sherlock in anger. “I can’t stand idly. This is a case. A case that my brother gave me.” 

John paused as he saw the distress in his friend's manner. It was one thing to know that his brother was going to live but to know that when dying, Mycroft had entrusted something as big as this to Sherlock and the other man not being able to do anything about it was tearing Sherlock apart. 

“I have to solve this.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t do anything,” began John. “I’m just saying that your uncle seemed to be the type of person that would only tell the truth if his life depended on it.”

Sherlock paused and thought over what John had said. It was logical. His uncle was the British Government before Mycroft but there was something different between the two, the man had long retired from field work and was therefore not used to being threatened.

He turned to Mary. “Any chance you have any clowns on your speed dial?”

“Clowns?”

“Mycroft and Uncle Rudy have a lot of things in common, and not just their secretive, albeit boring work.” said Sherlock as he got ready to do who knows what. “Clowns being one of the most important.”


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Rudy sighed as he went through different scenarios in his head. He had instructed Tyers to stay by Mycroft’s side for the time being, as added security. Not that he didn’t trust NSY, but with his nephew’s life, precaution was necessary.

The doctors all seem to agree that Mycroft lost his footing, slipped, fell down hard and due to the force of being thrown to the wall, the healing internal stitches all broke.

It was fortunate that there had been bleeding at the exterior as well and forced the surgeons to take a look at the healing injuries -- they might have missed the internal bleeding altogether.

Rudy sighed as he ran a tired hand over his face. Informing his sister of the situation had been taxing, an experience he did not dare repeat and thought was past him when Mycroft had initially retired from field work.

Violet’s cries when she thought she would lose her son, yet another child--it always brought Rudy back to that night. It broke his heart to see his younger sister like that but it had to be done, just as he always told Mycroft.

The current status quo was a kindness he had given everyone concerned. It was better than the alternative -- granted Rudy wished sometimes that maybe the other Holmes boy should have been imprisoned and would have probably saved everyone a lot of trouble.

Rudy drained his glass as he surveyed his temporary home office, or his previous office if he was going to be technical. After he had retired, he had literally left everything to his nephew. His house, his valet, his job, his responsibilities -- all of it. He had his own reservations about his eldest nephew but Mycroft always rose to the occasion, proving everyone wrong with how everyone underestimated the young man.

Even Rudy himself underestimated how cunning and resourceful Mycroft could be. But everyone had a flaw or two and Mycroft had a very dangerous one.

He cared too much.

With yet another sigh, he stood and headed to get a few hours of sleep before heading back to the hospital. As he headed up the stairs he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the door to Mycroft’s study open. They had secured the house after Mycroft was brought to the hospital. He was sure that everything had been shut. No way a draft could have opened the heavy door.

He grabbed the next best thing he could use as a weapon and smiled when he realized he had managed to grab Mycroft’s umbrella. That’s the best weapon under the circumstances.

As Rudy neared the door, he could hear whispers. A man and a woman. 

_ I thought it was supposed to be the beginning of all human misery. _

_ Now, what was all that about arresting me? _

_ Well, maybe not arresting you. _

_ No? _

Rudy paused, confused as he entered the room in one swift motion. It’s one of those private investigator movies that Mycroft was very fond of. His nephew had spent quite a bit of his early savings to purchase some old films and found and repaired a film projector.

It was one of a few cherished possessions of his nephew and would have been stored somewhere safe.

Rudy surveyed his surroundings but nothing seemed out of the ordinary besides the obvious. The film projector set-up without a watcher.

_ I could just keep you under close watch. _

Rudy’s eyes snapped back on the film when from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw his sister, brother-in-law and both his nephews but on a beach.

The image flickered for a moment but then the projector resumed showing the film.

_ Very close? _

_ Uh-huh. _

Rudy made to take another survey of the room when the film flickered once more and this time Rudy could not be mistaken in identifying the young overweight boy, an eleven year old, Mycroft. The screen briefly returned to the movie, but flicked back over to a close-up of Mycroft smiling at the camera, then back to the movie. 

“Mycroft wouldn’t approve of you vandalizing his movie,” called out Rudy to the dark room, being vigilant to any movement or sound. “It cost him a fortune, this.”

_ Shame. I was looking forward to putting myself into the hands of the authorities. _

_ You were? _

_ Fingerprinting … being searched … thoroughly. _

Now the footage jumped more quickly back and forth between the professional movie and the home movie. In the latter, a beach ball bounced across to a four year old Sherlock, who had a mop of brown curly hair. The camera pulled up and showed Violet by the shore, waving. Siger was kneeling down by Mycroft who was holding a plate piled high with sandwiches and an apple, and was taking a bite from a sandwich. The footage was then cut to the parents sitting in their deckchairs as Siger called out to Sherlock who ran towards them; then it cut to Sherlock jumping on top of Mycroft who was half-reclined on the sand with a book in his hands. Mycroft smiled as he and Sherlock played in the sand...

Rudy felt his heart clench at the sight, dropping his guard for a moment. He hadn’t seen a genuine smile like that on his elder nephew’s face in such a long time.

The footage then moved to a far shot of Siger and Violet with both boys as they waved towards the camera-- then briefly the screen went white and jagged writing appeared reading...

**I’M BACK**

Rudy’s arm instantly raised up on high alert. The footage was back on showing his sister’s family, rather his sister’s incomplete family.

The footage seemed to briefly return to the black and white movie and a tight close-up of the top half of the actress’ face, except that those aren’t the eyes of the actress…

They’re the eyes of someone else. Someone Rudy made sure to never haunt anyone else’s life.

Again the family waved back to the camera, then the white screen and the “ **I’M BACK** ” message reappeared before the footage dissolved.

“As I said,” began Rudy, anger lining his voice. “Mycroft would be very upset that you destroyed his film like that.”

Rudy slowly turned in a circle, surveying the room as he spoke.

“Mycroft.” A female voice whispered, echoing in the room.

Rudy kept his arm up, the umbrella wielded like a sword. He raised his arm towards the ceiling as footsteps echoed from the room upstairs. 

The film continued to rattle loudly on the projector. There’s a sound behind him and Rudy quickly turned to see the door noisily creaked open. 

He slowly walked through the doorway and stopped on the other side, and behind him the door rapidly and loudly slammed shut. 

“You seem to forget who you are dealing with, my dear,” said Rudy, his voice filled with fury this time. “I have never nor will I in my short future, appreciate your games.”

The sound of electric fizzing noises sent him once again on high alert as the lights in the hall in front of him flickered, then went out with a loud pop. Rudy’s eyes blazed as he sharply pulled apart the umbrella, revealing a sword blade attached to the handle. 

Dropping the fabric to the floor, he switched on a torch on his mobile phone and walked slowly forwards. 

“Mycroft may have a soft spot for you,” continued Rudy. “But after your little stunt today, after you almost caused him his life. I doubt he’d carry any sort of resentment for what I should have done years ago.”

As he turned to look into an open door, shining the light into the room, a small figure ran across the hall further along. It appeared to be a young girl wearing a dress and long white socks and with her dark hair tied in two long ponytails either side of her head. She disappeared into the darkness. A clock started to chime. 

“You honestly think you can fool me with that?” asked Rudy to the now empty hallway. He turned to look at the other end of the hall. When he turned back around the girl was back, standing in the shadows beside the stairs. 

Rudy aimed his torch on her. But it’s not a child at all – it’s a mannequin with a blank white face, wearing the same dress and socks and a dark wig with ponytails.

“Why don’t you come out and show yourself?” demanded Rudy. “I don’t have time for this.”

“We have time,” echoed a child’s voice, a young girl. “All the time in the world.”

Behind him, the little girl bursted out of the darkness and ran up the stairs. He turned and raced up the stairs after her. Slowing down on the half-landing, he turned and walked up the next flight. The upper floor is slightly better lit and he kept his phone into his trouser pocket.

“Show yourself!” demanded Rudy as he slowly walked along the hall. 

“You know who!” came the voice in a sing-song manner but the voice was no longer of a child. It was adult now, the same tone he had heard the last time he made a personal visit to Sherrinford.

“You,” hissed Rudy. “Are in a secure facility. It is impossible for you to be here.”

“Nothing’s impossible.” replied the voice as the lights started to flicker once more. “You of all people know that.”

On the left-hand wall of the hallway hang a row of paintings. Rudy passed a painting of a large country house and now reached a portrait of a historical male figure. At the corner of his eye, he saw something and turned just to see blood start to pour from the eyes and from one side of the mouth. He walked further along the hallway to the next portrait, this one of a historical woman, which also has blood coming from the eyes and mouth and running down the picture. He continued on and looked at the next picture, another historical man who bears a strong resemblance to Rudy himself. This too has blood running from the eyes and one side of the mouth.

Rudy felt fear once again grip his heart the third time that night. First was when he had seen Mycroft on the floor, the second at the hospital -- but this fear was different. It wasn’t a fear about someone else's being. It was fear for his own life.

“Coming to get you!” came the sing-song voice, back to that of a young girl.

A crash sounded behind him and Rudy turned to see the helmet from a suit of armour tossed across the hall.

“There’s an East Wind coming.” taunted the child. “Coming to get you!”

“You can’t have got out!” shouted Rudy, angrily. “You can’t!”

Rudy saw movement out of the corner of his eye and he turned ready to face her. But he stood frozen at what he saw. From a side turning further along the hallway near a standing suit of armour, a clown stood menacingly. Slowly leaning over sideways to an almost ninety-degree angle, he then straightened up and stepped into the hallway. 

Rudy stared in disbelief as the clown reached across to the suit of armour and pulled its sword from the sheath and held it up beside himself, pointing the tip towards Rudy and raising his other hand forward. 

Angry and determined, Rudy raised his own weapon, pointing the tip toward the ceiling, then lowered it and whipped the blade in front of him a few times. Pointing it towards the clown, he started to move forward slowly while the clown beckoned him with his hand and sword. 

“As always, you underestimate me,” snarled Rudy as he took one last step forward, before taking a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and clamp it around the base of the blade, twisted it off the handle and aimed a small gun attached to the end of the handle at the clown. He pulled the trigger but the gun just clicked.

Rudy’s eyes widened in surprise.

“No use, uncle.”

Rudy pulled the trigger again but the gun only clicks once more.

“There’s no defense …” whispered the voice. “... and nowhere to hide.”

The clown roared and charged forward. Rudy cringed back and then turned to run down a nearby flight of stairs. Running into the hall downstairs, he hurried to the two nearby doors and tried each one but they’re locked.

Rudy turned and saw the clown had stopped at the upstairs landing, watching him over the bannisters. But from the corner of his eye, something else had moved...a shadow walked past the upper windows. The figure pushed through the heavy curtains over one of the entrances to the landing. 

It was his younger nephew in complete costume. Bellowing greatcoat and deerstalker.

Rudy instantly knew what had happened and fury ignited within him. “You insolent brat!”

Sherlock raised his right thumb and forefinger to his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. All the lights came on. The clown looked down at Rudy, who stared back in fury as a short man walked out of another hall on the ground floor, wearing a dress and a dark wig with long ponytails.

“Experiment complete. Conclusion: I have a sister.” said Sherlock as he turned to his uncle.

Rudy tossed the gun to the floor as he glared at his nephew.

“Conclusion two: my sister – Eurus, apparently – has been incarcerated from an early age in a secure institution controlled by my uncle.”

“You think you’re so clever figuring all that out from a farce?”

Sherlock waved cheerfully at him. “Of course I am. Hello dear, uncle.”

Rudy raised his hands and pressed the palms against his eyes. He lowered them after a moment and turned to his younger nephew and through gritted teeth asked or better yet demanded, “Why?!”

“Conclusion three,” said Sherlock, dropping his mirth. “You are terrified of her!”

“You,” growled Rudy sternly, pointing a finger at Sherlock. “Have no idea what you’re dealing with.” He paused to glare at him. “None at all. She is none of your concern. She is locked up--”

“New information.”

“She’s out.”

Rudy turned as John and Mary Watson appeared from a corridor beside him.

“That’s not possible.” replied Rudy with another set of glare aimed at the couple.

“It’s more than possible.” replied Sherlock, this time anger of his own. “She was posing as a nanny for my goddaughter.”

“Shot her.” said John with a look that said the discussion was only beginning.

“Only with a tranquillizer.” clarified Sherlock.

“And we had yet to discuss hourly rates,” said Mary.

“Well, glad you hadn’t gotten there yet, now are you?” said Sherlock with a smile to the couple as he descended the stairs. “Right, you two. Wiggins has got your money by the gate. Don’t spend it all in one crack den.”

The man in the child’s clothes gave Sherlock a double thumbs-up and turned and scampered away. The clown on the landing reached up and squeezed his big red nose which made a squeaking sound, and then walked away. 

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock walked across to his uncle and smiled. “Oh, I hope we didn’t spoil your evening.”

“Spoil my evening?” fired back Rudy in rage. “I just spent hours by your brother’s bedside as he--”

“And who’s fault was that?” fired back Sherlock as John immediately went to his friend’s side to touch his arm. “You intentionally kept me away from my brother! I could have prevented this.”

“She wouldn’t have attacked Mycroft,” said Rudy with a snort.

“You just said and I quote ‘after your little stunt today, after you almost caused him his life’. She could have--”

“Sherlock,” began John. “Not here. Not now.”

Sherlock turned to look at John who had an equally determined look on his face. He turned his head to look at Mary who nodded towards him.

“Right.” Sherlock then turned towards the doors.

“You’re just leaving?” asked Rudy, eyeing his younger nephew in surprise.

“Well, we’re not staying here.” replied back Sherlock. “Eurus is coming and, uh, someone’s disabled all your security.”

He turned and opened the previously locked door and walked away, calling out over his shoulder. “Sleep well!”

John and Mary eyed Rudy before turning to follow the detective out but they stopped short as Rudy called out to them.

“Why did he do that? That was insane!”

“Well, you see,” began Mary with a smile towards her husband.

“Oh, right,” began John as he returned her smile. “Someone convinced him that you wouldn’t tell the truth unless you were actually wetting yourself.”

“Someone?” repeated Rudy, already knowing the answer.

John looked away thoughtfully, licking his lips before turning back towards Rudy and smiled. “Probably me.”

“So that’s it, is it? You’re just going?” asked Rudy with a glare. “He doesn’t want any more explanation.”

“Well, don’t worry.” began Mary. “There’s a place for people like you – the desperate, the terrified, the ones with nowhere else to run.”

“What place?” asked Rudy, though he already had a bad feeling about the answer.

“Two two one B Baker Street.” replied John as Mary smiled and headed out.

Rudy closed his eyes and sighed in resignation.

“Right,” said John as he cleared his throat. “See you in the morning. If there’s a queue, join it!”

“For God’s sake!” said Rudy in outrage. “This is not one of your idiot cases.”

John lifted a finger as if he'd forgotten something, then turned and walked back into the hall, pointing upstairs. “You might wanna close that window.” He turned to Rudy. “There is an East Wind coming.”

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: MGLojo  
> Tumblr: wierdogal


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